


Recognition

by DickWhitmansCat



Category: Masters of Sex
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickWhitmansCat/pseuds/DickWhitmansCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1948, and thanks to a young, gorgeous jazz singer named Virginia, a newly engaged Bill Masters learns how to listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recognition

His memory blurs.

If he were the observant sort, he'd have seen the way Libby showed off her engagement ring to the table like a hard-won prize.  He'd have seen the way his pretty young fiancée hung on Margaret Scully's every word at that table at that damned supper club, lapping up every bit of perceived wisdom the older woman doled out.  

He would have seen the older woman's husband tighten his arm around his wife's chair as his eyes followed the muscular young barback as he vigorously wiped down the polished oak bar.  

He would have seen so much, had he been looking anywhere but at _her_.

He didn't care for music, at least not in the way most people did.  To him, music was denial -- his mother, turning up the radio to drown out his screams for help.  Not that he wasn't as affected by a nice melody as the next person.  He didn't mind the occasional dance, provided that it was slow and brief.  

For as much as he didn't know how to look, he absolutely did not know how to listen.

She stepped into a pale white spotlight, lovely but slight in green satin.  She began to sing, and it was a soothing sound, he thought.  Honeyed.  Warm.

 

 

> _Long ago my heart and mind_
> 
> _got together and designed the wonderful boy for me,_
> 
> _oh, what a fantasy…_

As the noise burbled on around him (marriage advice, drink orders, idle gossip) he realized:  _nobody's listening to her._   The scars he carried -- both visible and not -- were a testament to this greatest of injustices, he thought.  _Sure, this girl's getting a paycheck regardless of who takes note of her, but…_  His eyes closed as he tried to make up for an entire room full of people's indifference, as if he could undo the past with good intentions alone.  

 

 

> _Though the idol of my heart_
> 
> _can't be ordered a la carte,_
> 
> _I wonder if he will be always a fantasy…_

Libby's voice cut through like glass, and his eyes opened.  He offered a smile and took a sip of his drink, glancing back at the shy, shimmering goddess as she got to the meat of her song.  _I'm listening.  I promise._

 

 

> _Will I ever find the boy in my mind,_
> 
> _the one who is my ideal?_
> 
> _Maybe he's a dream,_
> 
> _and yet he might be_
> 
> _just around the corner, waiting for me._
> 
> _Will I recognize the light in his eyes_
> 
> _that no other eyes reveal,_
> 
> _or will I pass him by and never even know_
> 
> _that he was my ideal?_

As the short, stocky trumpeter took over the middle section of the song, the shy goddess retreated slightly from the light, and as she did, her eyes flicked upward and met his.  He smiled despite himself.  To his surprise, she smiled back.

* * *

Her name, he learned a couple nights later, was Virginia.  

As the same barback dried whiskey glasses behind them, she told him about herself.  It seemed she too was engaged, to the leader of the band she sang with.

"You don't seem too thrilled by this," he'd said, testing the limits of the already surprising amount of candor she'd shown him.

"I've been married before," she'd replied, lighting a cigarette and taking a thoughtful drag.  "If I were looking for thrills, marriage isn't where I'd look."

"What are you looking for?" he asked, without thinking.

"Children," Virginia said, matter-of-factly.

"Children," he repeated.  

"George is…he's enough.  That's all I need to get what I want.  Or at least a version of what I want."

He snorted at this.  "Biologically speaking, I suppose you're right."

"The fact of the matter is -- I'm terribly sorry, what was your name again?"

"Bill."

"Bill.  The fact of the matter, Bill--"  She smiled conspiratorially at him.  "I want to be a mother, but not a wife.  Being a wife means being able to better provide for my children, provide them with a stable home and legitimacy in a legal sense, but--"  She took another drag off of the cigarette.  "I was always taught that for a good girl, your husband comes first and your children a close second, and I think that's a load of nonsense.  I don't just want to be a mother.  I want to be a good mother.  I want to keep my children safe.  I want them to know that they are loved and provided for.  They will be my priority, and no-one else.  Not even their father."  The barback slides over an ashtray, and she stubs out the cigarette.  "Especially not their father."

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he smiled and nodded, the most peculiar and perverse thrill coursing through him.  Her words triggered a torrent of contradiction within him, and suddenly his thoughts and his body were at war.  _I want to be yours and I don't want to share you with anyone.  I want to map every inch of you with my tongue, bury myself so deep in you that the only thing you remember is my name.  I want to give you everything you ever dreamed of.  Please.  Please.  Hear me.  See me._

He forced a tight smile.  "That makes sense," he managed to get out.  "Well, the day your dreams come true--"  He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to her.  "Maybe I'll be there too."

She studied the card, eyes wide, unsure if he meant he'd be delivering the baby or if he was suggesting something else entirely.  

He held out a hand for hers.  She smiled curiously and obliged, and as she did, he pressed a kiss to it.  "Good night, Virginia," he whispered, getting up from his stool.

"Good night, Dr. Masters," she returned, smiling as he walked away.

If he'd looked back, he would have seen something he'd never seen before.

_The future._

**Author's Note:**

> MASTERS OF SEX belongs to Showtime and bunch of other people who are not me, as do all of its characters. 
> 
> (It's spectacularly weird to write an AU of what's essentially an AU of real life, but I couldn't resist.)
> 
> "My Ideal" is a real song that likewise does not belong to me -- it was written by Newell Chase, Richard A. Whiting and Leo Robin in 1930.


End file.
